


Nothing So Strong

by JayofOlympus



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Banter, Blow Jobs, Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, Cuddling & Snuggling, Eskel Needs a Hug (The Witcher), Eskel deserves nice things, Established Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Smut, Funny to Feels-y in .5 Seconds, Gentleness, Geralt is Willing to Share, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Needs a Hug, Healthy Relationships, Jaskier Will Give Them Hugs, Jaskier is a Nice Thing, Lambert is an Entity of Chaos, M/M, Multi, This is a Callout Not a Gift, Top Eskel (The Witcher), Voice Kink, Witchers are as Dense as a Particularly Solid Rye Bread, Witchersexual Jaskier | Dandelion, it's about the yearning, they're gay your honour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:08:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28344390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JayofOlympus/pseuds/JayofOlympus
Summary: Geralt has found something gentle and kind in Jaskier, and he wants to share that with his fellow Wolves, Eskel most especially. Jaskier is more than happy to be shared.
Relationships: Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Eskel/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 30
Kudos: 457





	Nothing So Strong

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FrenchKey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrenchKey/gifts).



> Title comes from the quote "nothing is so strong as gentleness, and nothing is so gentle as real strength" - Ralph W. Sockman.
> 
> This fic was written as a gift for FrenchKey, who asked for Eskel. Which gave me a lot to work with. Good thing I know them so well, otherwise this could have been very difficult to write.
> 
> I haven't marked this as a multichapter fic, but it's probably going to end up that way, because Ali is already giving me ideas for more.
> 
> Merry Christmas Ali! Please enjoy Jaskier making a mission of loving every Witcher he meets.

They’d crossed paths by sheer coincidence, both happening to be passing through the same town, though in near entirely opposite directions.

Eskel had already paid for a room, so the two had decided to make the most of the unexpected reunion and take the time to actually catch up on what the other had been doing since they’d last seen each other in the spring, leaving Kaer Morhen.

Perhaps it was all the time he’d been spending with Jaskier, but Geralt found himself noticing things about Eskel while they spoke in a shaded corner of the tavern. Eskel was withdrawn, quieter than usual. When the barmaid brought them more drinks, he turned his face so that his scars were further shadowed.

He was hiding. The realisation hit Geralt like a charging fiend. Usually he was the one trying to hide the worst of the evidence of his inhuman nature, making himself smaller, less threatening, for the comfort of those around him.

It didn’t take much thought for him to realise what had changed to make him more at ease. There was only one thing in his life that could have led to it.

Jaskier.

“- best avoiding Berbyne, if you’re heading that direction.” Eskel’s words drew Geralt from his musings. “Sent me on my way as soon as the contract was done, and I doubt they’ve much interest in housing a second Witcher so soon.”

Geralt nodded. “If you’re passing Jeseta, there’s a herbalist there you’ll get good deals from. And a tavern in Moushal, the Four Cats, which Jaskier swears by.”

A slow, creeping smirk alerted Geralt to his mistake.

“Oh, does he now?” Eskel said, highly amused. “You’re actually taking the bard’s advice now?”

Geralt shrugged. “When it’s good advice,” he allowed. But he _was_ listening to Jaskier a lot more these days. Trying foods he recommended, taking contracts that he found, staying places he trusted. Because Geralt trusted Jaskier.

The conversation moved on, but Geralt’s mind kept working over the concept. He _trusted_ Jaskier, trusted him as much as he did his fellow Wolves. He trusted him to be kind, when so few were. To be kind when Geralt didn’t deserve it.

It didn’t seem fair, to Geralt, that he got someone like Jaskier following after him, being kind, and caring for him, _loving him_ \- and that thought still felt preposterous, _presumptuous_ , no matter how many times Jaskier said it - when his fellow Wolves, when _Eskel_ , had no such comforts.

* * *

“You should come with me,” Geralt said, sated and sleepy. “To Kaer Morhen.”

It had been a long night. Jaskier had kept the entire tavern under his thrall the whole evening, his voice and personality enchanting every last one of them until they forgot about the Witcher in their midst. Then they’d fallen into bed, and Geralt had made him _sing_. It had taken until nearly dawn to finally wear down Jaskier’s energy, but Geralt would happily take on the task every night, if for nothing but the sound of his bard’s breathless sighs as he took his pleasure from Geralt.

Jaskier stroked a hand through Geralt’s hair, a sleepy smile on his face. Geralt loved that smile. He loved Jaskier too, and someday he would even find the words to tell him that.

“I would love to, of course,” Jaskier said, grinning. “But, Geralt, what brought this on? We’ve still half a season before we have to start making plans. I thought, if you ever asked, it would be at the very last moment.”

“Hmm,” Geralt said, considering his words carefully. “Seems selfish,” he settled on, “keeping you to myself. You’re… good. Kind. They deserve to have a little of that too.”

He was explaining it badly, he was sure, but Geralt didn’t know how to make Jaskier understand. Witchers had so few good things in their lives, and Geralt just wanted to share the goodness he’d found in Jaskier.

“You want good things for your fellow Wolves,” Jaskier said with a soft, understanding smile, and Geralt felt the knot in his chest loosen. Of course Jaskier understood; he’d spent years learning Geralt’s language.

“Lambert has his Cat, sometimes,” Geralt said. “But the Path wears on him. And Eskel… he deserves more kindness than I do. He’s _good_. You’ll get along well with him.”

Jaskier’s hand kept carding through his hair, so Geralt knew he was considering what he’d been told. A sly grin slowly crept over the bard’s face, and Geralt prepared to shove him out of the bed, sure that whatever he was about to say would warrant it.

“So, when you say I’ll get along well with Eskel, does that mean I have a chance of tempting him into a threesome?”

The thump when Jaskier hit the floor was very satisfying.

* * *

Jaskier felt awed by Kaer Morhen. It was a somewhat tragic sight, with walls crumbling in places, the windows dark, and no sound coming from the courtyard.

A voice called out to them as they drew close to the stables.

“And here I thought we’d have all the work done before you showed face, Wolf!”

The Witcher that greeted them wore a teasing smile on his handsome face. He was a little broader than Geralt, and his hair a rich, dark brown, but otherwise his features were so alike to Geralt’s that Jaskier might have mistaken them for brothers had he not known already that they shared no blood.

He watched as Eskel hauled Geralt into what could charitably be described as a hug, but might more accurately be called a headlock. It was amazing to watch the last bit of tension slide from Geralt’s shoulders, finally home and safe. To be allowed to witness such vulnerability from such a closed off individual was humbling.

“And this must be your bard,” Eskel said, releasing Geralt to size up Jaskier. His eyes were so incredibly intense that they rendered Jaskier breathless for a moment. A little warmer than Geralt’s gold, they seemed closer to amber in the late-afternoon light.

“Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove, at your service,” Jaskier replied with a showy bow. “But please, call me Jaskier.” He was near transfixed by the way the sunlight played on Eskel’s hair, lighting him like some otherworldly creature.

“I asked him to winter with us this year,” Geralt said, his low rumble drawing Jaskier from his musings.

“And I am certainly glad you did,” he said, pointedly giving Eskel an appreciative look. “I would hate to have missed out on meeting your fellows yet again.”

Eskel’s expression didn’t change from the welcoming half-smile he had donned to greet Jaskier, but the bard noticed the way his lips twitched downward at the corners for the briefest moment. It seemed Eskel would be a tough nut to crack.

Before he could say anything more, a dark blur shot across the courtyard, snarling loudly enough to startle Jaskier. The blur shot toward Geralt, who ducked low, caught it, and slammed it into the cobbled ground.

There was just enough time for Jaskier to register the smirking face of a third Witcher, presumably Lambert, given the behaviour and lack of grey hair, before Geralt was pulled into a wrestling match that had the two of them rolling across the courtyard and through wet piles of half-melted snow.

Eskel huffed out a laugh beside him, shaking his head. “Best us head inside and get warm; they’ll be at it ‘til Vesemir gets at them,” he said, gesturing for Jaskier to follow him toward the keep.

“I would quite enjoy getting in out of the cold,” Jaskier said with a grin. “By all means, lead the way, my dear Witcher.”

Eskel shook his head, but picked up the pack Geralt had dropped, and held a hand out for Jaskier’s.

“Geralt mentioned that I would likely get along well with you,” Jaskier said, happy to be free of the burden. “I take that to mean that you’re somewhat more verbose than my lovely, charming muse? Or perhaps you’ve just a little more appreciation for the finer things in life?” He shot Eskel a sly grin.

“A duck is more verbose than Geralt,” Eskel laughed. “I’ve crossed paths with nekkers more verbose than him.”

Jaskier laughed, thrilled by Eskel’s willingness to engage in the teasing. When Geralt had invited him to Kaer Morhen, Jaskier had worried that the other Wolves would view him as an outsider, and that his presence would keep them from feeling their usual security. He would never have forgiven himself if he’d intruded on the one place the Witchers could allow themselves to be vulnerable.

“My darling Witcher, you understand my plight _perfectly_ ,” he said, clapping Eskel on the shoulder.

“I’ve been putting up with him since before the Trials,” Eskel said. “I think it’s probably _you_ understanding _my_ plight.”

“And I’ve been putting up with the lot of you, so think how fucking tired of it I must be.”

Jaskier looked away from Eskel’s _beautiful_ smile to see an older Witcher, Vesemir, standing in the doorway to the keep. He straightened his spine, suddenly feeling the overwhelming need to pass muster with this man who had _raised_ Geralt. He knew that Vesemir’s good opinion meant a lot to Geralt, and he would be hurt if Vesemir weighed up Jaskier and found him lacking.

“Welcome to Kaer Morhen, bard,” Vesemir said with a curt nod.

It wasn’t exactly a ringing endorsement, but Jaskier got the feeling Vesemir wasn’t one for grand speeches full of emotion.

“We left Geralt and Lambert to try to kill each other in peace,” Eskel said. “Figure they’ll come in when they’re hungry.”

Vesemir huffed and shook his head, and stomped off outside to break up the wrestling Witchers, while Eskel led Jaskier to Geralt’s room.

The fire was already crackling in the hearth, warming the room, and bringing a welcome change from the cold Jaskier had been enduring on the climb. The bed was large, and had thick furs resting over the quilts. Just looking at it made him want to grab Geralt and sink into a long nap.

“It’s not much,” Eskel said, sounding sheepish.

Jaskier turned from where he had begun to inspect a small collection of trinkets hidden away on a shelf.  
“We got it aired out and dusted, and got the fire going, at least,” Eskel added, shrugging.

“It’s lovely,” Jaskier said with a smile. It _was_. It was warm, and cozy, and welcoming. It looked almost exactly how Jaskier had imagined it would. Simple, but home. Furs, and bare stone, and the kind of place Jaskier could imagine Geralt relaxing in.

“I know it’s probably not what you’re used to.” Eskel seemed unconvinced, glancing around as though he could see something wrong with the room that Jaskier hadn’t noticed.

Jaskier shook his head, laughing. “Do you think I have a portable manor that I sleep in while I’m travelling with Geralt? I’m not as soft as you might think, darling.”

It certainly wasn’t the first time someone had assumed that he couldn’t possibly be comfortable in anything less than lavish luxury, but he’d been travelling with Geralt for years now, and he’d travelled alone before then. A roof, hot food, and a bed were all the luxury Jaskier needed to be happy.

“I just meant that, had we known you were coming, we’d have made you up a room for yourself,” Eskel explained. “One that’s nicer than this.”

Jaskier took his hand with a smile. “This is wonderful, Eskel,” he assured him, pressing a kiss to scarred knuckles. “Thank you for getting it ready for us.”

The stunned, awestruck look on Eskel’s face made Jaskier’s heart ache. Geralt was right; Eskel needed to be loved. It wasn't right for a man to look so shocked by a gentle hand and some small praise.

* * *

Dinner that night was a strange affair. The bard’s appearance had shaken up their usual dynamics, and it was strange to see him flit between conversations like a bright little hummingbird, going from intense discussions of history with Vesemir, to trading quick-witted insults with Lambert, all the while _touching_ one of them.

Jaskier spent the entire evening _touching_ them all. A tap to Vesemir’s elbow, an arm slung over Lambert’s shoulders, a joking pinch to Geralt’s arse, and then his ribs when he grumbled over it. He even placed a hand over Eskel’s to catch his attention, as though Eskel could even contemplate ignoring him.

The familiarity was strange, and moreso, the _gentleness_ of it left Eskel reeling. Witchers were not gentle. Not with each other. Winter was a time of relaxation and rest, yes, when they could all let down their guards and simply exist. The Wolves could be kind to one another, even. But they were not gentle. Winter meant sparring, and roughhousing, and gruff affection that was more often shown in pulled punches and unsaid insults than any kind of touch.

The bard had turned it all on its head, and Geralt was the only one who seemed not to notice the changes. Vesemir appeared untroubled, but it was rare that any of them saw his calm shaken. Lambert, on the other hand, was very obviously unsettled by the changes Jaskier had brought and couldn’t decide how to respond, revelling in the attention and chafing under it in turns.

“You know, Geralt told me you were a - what was it again? - oh yes, a ‘prickly arsehole’,” Jaskier said, waggling a finger in Lambert’s direction from where he was sitting damn near on Geralt’s lap. “But I think you’re all bark and no bite.”

Lambert growled, but did absolutely nothing to dispute the accusation, and that was really all the proof Eskel needed to confirm he wanted the bard to stay. Eskel wanted him to stay too. It was just that… Well, he wasn’t sure why the bard always had to be _touching_ them.

He didn’t stop in the days that followed, either. At times Eskel almost thought the bard was incapable of standing if he wasn’t latched onto the nearest warm body.

Geralt bore the brunt of it, with Jaskier hanging off his arm, or leaning into his side every hour of the day. Even with all the fluttering, and incessant talking, and always, always touching, Geralt seemed more at peace with the bard by his side than Eskel had ever seen him.

He knew what it must have taken for Geralt to let Jaskier in like that, and then to invite him to Kaer Morhen, where he was at his most vulnerable, and where the others could embarrass him, or upset Jaskier. Eskel was proud of him.

A little jealous too, if he let himself dwell on it for too long. So instead, he threw himself into his chores, and reading, and anything else that could distract him for even a moment.

He couldn’t bring himself to actually avoid Jaskier though, and his heart clenched every single time the bard lit up at seeing him, and his breath caught when Jaskier touched him.

There was a time when Geralt had made him feel the same way, but many long years had since rendered them comfortable in each others’ company.

They didn’t always fall into bed together over Winter, but it was a common enough occurrence that Eskel had to count it among the many things Jaskier’s presence had changed.

He could never begrudge Geralt the happiness he’d found with his bard, but there were nights where Eskel wanted nothing more than to crawl under the furs on Geralt’s bed and curl up next to his oldest friend. To make matters worse, on those same nights he found himself longing for Jaskier’s gentle hands to join Geralt’s on his body.

What did it say of him, that he wanted to push in on his best friend’s relationship? A relationship that had done nothing but good for him, no less.

* * *

Jaskier had been trying for two weeks to subtly indicate his interest in Eskel, but it was becoming increasingly apparent that subtlety just wasn’t going to cut it. He should have learned his lesson with Geralt.

“There’s nothing for it, I’m afraid,” he said, collapsing onto Geralt’s bed and sinking into those _fantastic_ furs.

“Hmm,” Geralt said. Jaskier chose to interpret that as meaning ‘please, Jaskier, tell me your amazing plan to get Eskel into bed’.

“I’ve been trying to _seduce_ him,” Jaskier said, sighing loudly. “I wanted him to feel _desired_.Why is it that Witchers must always make things more difficult for me? Just once, I would like for a Witcher to be easily seduced.”

“Hmm,” Geralt repeated.

Jaskier sighed again. “Geralt, your friend is incredibly attractive,” he said, turning to face the Witcher reclining beside him. “He’s so beautiful that I may actually die if I don’t get him in bed by the solstice.”

“Hmm. You’ve got four days,” Geralt said, unmoved by his plight, in spite of the enthusiasm he’d shown when Jaskier had first seriously broached the topic. “Hope you have a plan.”

Jaskier shot to his feet. “Of course I have a plan!” he cried. “It’s just that I’m going to have to _change_ that plan. To a much less elegant plan.”

He enacted his plan that very night, catching Eskel by the hand before he could leave the hall after supper. He could feel Geralt’s eyes on them as he led Eskel a little further away.

“I’m afraid I’m going to be quite blunt, Eskel,” Jaskier said, still clutching the Witcher’s hand. “It appears that I haven’t been clear enough in my intentions, and you have either misinterpreted my advances, or otherwise missed them entirely.”

Eskel made a quiet sound, as though surprised, which confirmed what Jaskier had assumed; Witchers were just so _dense_ when it came to these things. He didn’t know how they could possibly miss it when someone was attracted to them; Geralt had told him once that he could smell Jaskier’s arousal, which surely should have been a much larger clue that he was _attracted_ to the man.

“Should I ever be interested in courting another Witcher, I will have to be much more forthcoming from the start,” he continued, shaking his head. “Nevertheless, I wanted to speak with you, because I would like to extend an invitation.”

“An invitation?” Eskel repeated, his eyes dark as he stared down at their joined hands, and _oh_ the things his voice did to Jaskier.

“Yes, I… well, that is… Geralt has told me about your past together,” Jaskier said. He didn’t need to look over his shoulder to know that Geralt was still watching them, and gods, it was intoxicating to know that the entirety of that intense gaze was focused on him.

“He told you about…”

Jaskier nodded, a flush creeping up his neck as he recalled the details whispered into his ear while Geralt slowly took him apart. It had only made him more determined to bed Eskel himself, not to mention causing him to feel a stab of lust every time he saw him for _days_ afterward.

“My point in bringing this up is that I would love for you to join us,” he said, rubbing his thumb over Eskel’s knuckles as he spoke.

Eskel raised his head to look over Jaskier’s shoulder, no doubt locking eyes with Geralt. Whatever he saw must have been positive, because he lifted his free hand to cradle Jaskier’s jaw.

“I would be happy to join you,” he said, his amber eyes dancing with something Jaskier didn’t dare name.

His lips met Eskel’s in the space of a heartbeat, and he felt Eskel’s hands tug him closer.

Eskel kissed like a man starved for it, _devouring_ Jaskier, stealing his very thoughts with the intensity of it.

When Jaskier was finally forced to draw in more air, he could hardly bear to part from Eskel, clutching desperately at his shirt to keep him as close as he could with clothes still on.

A second pair of rough hands found their place on his hips,a broad chest pressed to his back, and Jaskier could feel long, soft hair tickle his neck as Geralt kissed him behind the ear, lips curling into a smile.

“Best not do this here,” he rumbled, and Jaskier groaned.

Jaskier would simply _perish_ if Vesemir were to catch them in the hallway like overeager teens.

If _Lambert_ were to catch them… Well, that was a problem for another day.

“Yes, yes, upstairs, now, please,” Jaskier said, pushing at Eskel’s chest to get him moving.

That earned him a laugh from both Witchers, but they moved.

It took them twice as long as usual to get to Geralt’s room, because Jaskier had _two_ breathtaking men to push against walls and kiss senseless, and who did the same to him in turn. He couldn’t take his hands off of them, marvelling at the thought of them both wanting _him_.

“Fuck, bard, you’ve no business being so alluring,” Eskel rumbled, fingers knotted in Jaskier’s hair while the bard pressed kisses along his jawline.

“He’s fucking indecent,” Geralt agreed, and Jaskier’s knees shook at the way his voice rumbled through his chest.

“Yes, I’m truly terrible,” Jaskier said, and even he could hear the whine in his voice. “Could someone _please_ fuck me now?”

Geralt scraped his teeth over Jaskier’s neck, and threw open the door beside him.

“In,” he growled, though it was entirely unneeded.

Eskel crowded in against Jaskier the second Geralt had made space, and had begun herding him backward toward the bed, kissing him all the while.

It wasn’t until they reached the bed that Jaskier was able to force his brain into action. Tonight wasn’t about him, though he was very much looking forward to a night that _was_. No, tonight was for Eskel.

Before Eskel could think to press him down onto the bed, Jaskier spun them, taking advantage of Eskel’s surprise to knock him back so that _he_ was the one falling onto the furs.

There was a quiet chuckle, and Jaskier glanced over his shoulder to see Geralt in the chair by the fire, watching them with lust-darkened eyes. The light of the fire made him glow like some decadent god as he tugged off his shirt, eyes never leaving Jaskier and Eskel.

“ _Gods_ , Geralt,” Jaskier groaned. “I sincerely hope you don’t intend to spend this entire evening in that chair.”

“You’d damn well better not,” Eskel added in a low growl.

Geralt shook his head. “Just for now,” he assured them.

Jaskier gave him a grin, then turned on Eskel, eager to get started. He straddled the Witcher’s lap, and claimed his lips once more, his hands roaming that broad chest as he learned the shape of him.

He took his time, trailing kissing over every inch of Eskel’s face, and the Witcher could do nothing more than clutch at his hips, his fingers tightening whenever Jaskier’s lips touched his scars.

“Gods, you’re all so fucking beautiful,” Jaskier said, not entirely meaning for the words to leave his mouth, but it was so very true.

Eskel groaned beneath him, and the chair creaked as Geralt stood to join them.

From there, it was a blur of hand and lips, and their clothes slowly fell away. Jaskier let himself be swept away in sensations, writhing and grinding against the bodies pressed close to him, and those weren’t Geralt’s hands, but, oh _gods_ that was his mouth.

Eskel’s hands, bigger than Geralt’s and with a different pattern of calluses, kneaded the flesh of his ass, while Geralt swallowed his cock right down to the root.

“Fuck, please,” Jaskier panted, fingers tangling in Geralt’s hair as he desperately searched for something to anchor him and keep him from drowning in pure bliss.

“We’ve got you,” Eskel said, pressing kisses down Jaskier’s throat.

He pulled away, and Jaskier whined, high and needy, as a rush of cold air took Eskel’s place. The Witcher was back in the space of a breath, hushing him and kissing him in apology.

“Tell me what you want,” Eskel said, crowding in as close as he could without dislodging Geralt, whose mouth had never once left Jaskier’s cock, making it _incredibly_ difficult to think clearly.

“I want,” Jaskier said, cutting off with a moan as Geralt flicked his tongue _just so_. “Fuck, Eskel, I want you to fuck me!”

Eskel groaned, and Jaskier could feel the sound reverberate through his chest. He shuddered as Eskel nipped at his jaw and trailed fingers over Jaskier’s thighs.

“Fuck, you look good together,” Geralt said, breathless as he pulled off Jaskier’s cock to speak.

The gold of his eyes was nearly lost to the black of his pupils, and his hair was rumpled from Jaskier’s hands, and he had never looked more beautiful.

Two pairs of hands moved against Jaskier’s body, and he swore this must have been a dream, because having both of these men in his bed was far too heavenly to be real. There were hands at his hips, his hair, his thighs, _in him_.

Eskel seemed to know exactly where to touch Jaskier to leave him utterly breathless and wanting more, and the bard had to wonder if Geralt had told him. He could picture it in his mind; the two of them tangled together in bed the past Winter, Geralt describing in deliciously explicit detail the ways he brought Jaskier to the brink, over and over again.

“Gods,” he gasped, unable to concentrate fully on any one sensation. “Please, Eskel! Geralt!”

The fingers in him stilled, then withdrew, and Jaskier whined, feeling empty.

“Just wait ‘til he gets his cock in you,” Geralt whispered into his ear, eyes locked on where Eskel was slicking himself.

Jaskier shuddered, eyes falling shut before Eskel could even touch him. Just the thought was intoxicating.

When Eskel finally pressed in, Jaskier was not disappointed. He was everything Geralt had promised and more, and Jaskier could do nothing more than cling to him desperately, gasping for breath.

“Fuck, Eskel!” he cried. “Fuck me, _gods_!”

Eskel obliged, leaning down to steal Jaskier’s breath with another devouring kiss as he drew his hips back, and thrust in sharply.

Geralt groaned, pressed against Eskel’s back, and what a sight they made.

Time became a blur, and Jaskier couldn’t say how long it lasted, but he could feel his peak drawing nearer with every thrust, Eskel’s roaming hands driving him wild with pleasure.

When Geralt put his mouth on Jaskier’s cock again, the bard cried out, overwhelmed.

“Gods! Please!” he sobbed, clutching at Geralt’s hair.

“Fuck, that’s it, bard,” Eskel groaned, thrusting harder at the way Jaskier tightened around him.

None of them lasted very long after that, too wound up to hold off any longer.

Jaskier hit his peak first, nails raking down Eskel’s back as he cried out wordlessly. Geralt swallowed his release, only pulling away when Jaskier dragged him back by his hair.

Eskel was next, only managing another handful of thrusts before he too met his climax.

“Fuck,” Geralt said, his hand moving over his own cock desperately. He hauled Eskel into a kiss that muffled the groan of his release, and Jaskier had to bite his lip to keep from whining at the sight of them.

The two of them collapsed on either side of the bard, breathless.

“I would call that a success,” Jaskier said, grinning.

Eskel laughed. “It certainly was, at that.”

Geralt pressed a kiss to Jaskier’s brow. “You should come with me next Winter too.”

Jaskier felt his heart melt a little at that.

“Do you think I could convince Lambert to fuck me next year?”

This time there were two Witchers to shove him out of bed.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Holidays everyone!


End file.
